by Gary Starta
She leaned forward spoiling her companion’s perfect view of her beautifully toned legs. Eva had unconsciously left her legs spread wide apart only a moment earlier. Her psychiatrist Wayne Holt had taken notice. Holt did not equate this lapse in etiquette with a behavioral problem, nor did he find a Freudian meaning in it. He only found it a turn on. He shifted in his chair to avoid becoming hard. Only the tight confines of Eva’s white mini skirt kept Holt from peeking to see what color panties she wore. Arms now folded across her lap, Eva kept her eyes down to avoid her psychiatrist’s scrutiny. Underneath her breath, she mumbled, “Should I? Should I?”
Now Holt found himself admiring Eva’s cleavage as she bent forward. The tops of her breast plunged nicely against her orange top. Holt was sure she was braless. But Holt found Eva’s strange posturing and mumbling too distracting to ogle further. Besides, he felt a small compulsion nagging at him. He did have to try to help this woman. She was paying him handsomely to help her understand why she kept a distance from men all these years. Eva only shared sex with her men, preferring to keep her life outside the bedroom private. Holt had established Eva was reluctant to enter into marriage for fear of failure. Her resemblance to actress Liz Taylor went no farther than physical. Eva Davies vowed she would never become fodder for gossip rags like Taylor, ending one marriage after another. Eva, well aware of the Hollywood marriage success rate, realized celebrity unions often expire quicker than most dairy products. Eva secretly pined for a marriage with someone like Mayor Schroeder though, someone outside the Hollywood limelight, someone who valued his career more than a photo opportunity.
“You must tell me everything if you want to overcome your fear, Eva.”
“It’s becoming complicated. I have feelings for a man. But if I disclose who he is, I may be endangering his life. Yet, I can’t just pretend this problem will go away. I even made a promise to help this person.”
“So you made a commitment, Eva. This is a big first step.”
“Yes, but it’s not the type of commitment you’re thinking of. I’m not talking about marriage, Wayne.”
“Let’s just concentrate on taking the first baby step. Now tell me, why did you make a commitment. You said relationships to you were nothing but physical.”
“I made this commitment more as a friend. This person is in trouble. Someone is coercing him to do something he doesn’t want to do.” She sighed. “God, I don’t even know if I should be telling you this much. You know it’s amazing I’ve kept his anonymity with you and everyone else for as long as I have. If this were L.A., my affair would be common knowledge.”
“Do you think it’s a wise idea to make any type of commitment to someone who belongs to someone else, Eva?”
“Are you trying to help me, Wayne, or judge me for Christ’s sake?”
“I hear how strongly you feel about him in your tone of voice. Tell me about him. I cannot divulge what you tell me here to anyone.”
“I know. I know all about patient/doctor confidentiality laws. But this just isn’t gossip.” Her hands were now clenched in fists. “If I divulge something to you, you’ve got to swear right now you won’t tell a soul―not even the police.”
“Certainly, Eva. You have my word.”
“I’ve been seeing the Mayor. Now, I don’t feel any shame in telling you this Wayne. In fact, if it wasn’t for a recent development, I would be proud of my relationship with him. But he has a marriage, and he also has hopes of getting re-elected. I believe someone, possibly a land developer, is using this against him.”
Eva glared at Holt’s pen and pad of paper. “I’m not taking notes.” He capped the pen. “There, we’re now officially off the record.”
“A few days ago I found out one of our dates had been taped. The blackmailer is threatening to expose the tape of us. They want the Mayor to influence the Planning Board for the purpose of developing open space.”
“And do you, or the Mayor, have any inkling who is making the threat?”
“I’m not sure. I could guess. But something else is troubling me just as much, Wayne. A stranger in a parking garage approached me right after the Mayor told me about the blackmail. I swear she was female. I couldn’t place her voice with a name, but whoever she was, she obviously knew all about our affair, yet she swore she was not part of the blackmail. She just wanted me to talk to the Mayor, to implore him not to give in to the demands. She has some interest in keeping this land zoned as open space.”
“What do you feel you should do, Eva? You said you wanted to help the Mayor with his problem?”
“I’m wondering if I should go to the police. Tell them everything. I don’t give a damn about the Mayor’s re-election. I just want him safe. But he might never talk to me again if I do. That’s why I need your promise you won’t tell the police―at least for now. I must consider the Mayor’s wishes.”
“Sounds to me this terrible moral dilemma is bringing you closer to a real relationship, one which doesn’t just revolve around a bed. I know that doesn’t bring much comfort to you, but it’s a beginning―a sign your behavior is changing. Now, regarding the blackmail, I won’t, tell you what to do. But I myself would be apprehensive about approaching the police. Things could get worse.”
Eva felt a weight to the psychiatrist’s last words. It was as if he was conveying some kind of emotion. She suddenly realized she was no closer to a solution than a few minutes ago. Only now she had possibly put the Mayor in even more danger. She sat in silence, wondering if Wayne Holt would truly honor the patient/doctor privilege. Eva left the office also wondering if she had already betrayed the man she had begun to have feelings for.
* * *
Holt ushered his next patient into his office. The burly man plopped himself onto the couch, as if he were about to entertain the idea of an afternoon nap. Fritz Lamperti paid Dr. Holt well. He believed Holt would take care of his anger management issues with a simple prescription, or a bit of sage advice. Either way, Fritz expected the psychiatrist to repair his life as easily as a mechanic might change a flat tire. Fritz demanded an easy cure for his anger problem. He suspected many men had experienced similar emotions. That’s why he began to wonder if Dr. Holt wasn’t taking advantage of him, making his treatment last longer for his own profit. But Fritz was desperate to quell his anger, so he denied himself the pleasure of railing at Holt. He even began to hope for a miracle, but deep down Fritz knew he was a leopard and leopards can’t change their spots. Still, if he could just stop or curb his anger towards his wife (Fritz would never admit to taking a swipe at her), life would be sweet again and more importantly, he would be back in the good graces of his older brother Vito. Now Vito was surely no saint, in fact, he wholeheartedly agreed that raising a hand in the name of the family once and awhile might be an honorable thing to do. It sure helped when it came to debt collection. But Vito demanded Fritz curb his physical penchant for violence once he stepped into his household. Fritz gave into Vito’s demands. It was a hierarchy thing. Vito was not only his elder brother; Vito was the boss of the family.
“Before we begin, Fritz. I have some personal/business news you’ll definitely be interested in.”
Fritz stopped twiddling his thumbs. He turned his head towards the psychiatrist.
“Oh?” Fritz’ eyes shifted about the room.
“Don’t worry, Fritz. You know the feds can’t bug a doctor’s office.”
“Still,” Fritz said, “You can never to be too careful.”
Holt hesitated to begin until Fritz nodded.
“A patient of mine, Eva Davies…”
Fritz interrupted. “The actress?”
“Yes, Fritz. She came to me this afternoon feeling quite disturbed. She fears for the safety of the Mayor. Do you happen to know about the situation I’m referring to?”
Fritz nodded, daring not to utter any verbal response, bugs or no bugs.
“She’s almost distressed enough to bring the police into this matter.”
“That would not be a healthy choice, Doc.”
“I thought you should also know, Ms. Davies received a strange visit from an unidentified female. Someone who thinks the Mayor should ignore the situation and not give in to the demands.”
“Uh, uh.” Fritz snorted and began to lumber from his lying position to his feet.
“I really appreciate the heads up, Doc. And let’s just say if we get the Mayor’s cooperation, we’ll all be rewarded. Now you can go on seeing this Davies. She’s not in any danger―yet. But if things should become more intense, you can call me at this number any weekday morning.”
Wayne Holt recognized the number on the piece of paper Fritz had handed him. He had dialed this number before, using it to make Fritz’ first appointment. It was a payphone next to a deli.
“Now let’s settle down to work, shall we, Fritz.”
Fritz resumed his carefree position on the couch easing Holt’s mind. The psychiatrist had feared the news might have encouraged Fritz to end the session early so he could go bat the misses around―or whoever else was in close proximity.
“Okay, Fritz. Let’s see if we can channel your anger into something constructive.” Holt picked up his pad and pen, appearing to take notes. But the pad of paper was void of any words. It only contained a caricature in the likeness of Eva Davies.
Chapter Twelve
“What do you have for me, Mr. Parker?” Corey Parker, the 24-year-old technician who worked in the trace lab, always got a laugh out of the way Stanford Carter pronounced his last name. The thick Boston accent of Carter made the name Parker sound more like Paah-kaah to the Cranbury, New Jersey native. But Corey never let on that it amused him. He knew his boss was all business when it came to trace analysis.
“I analyzed the paint chips from Carolyn Barris’ vehicle in our micro-visible spectrophotometer and found the paint transfer definitely came off another vehicle. I then accessed our automobile paint library. The paint sample contains the exact same chemical composition as the substance used on the Ford 150 series. Someone bumped Ms. Barris car with a truck painted bright red.”
Carter’s mind raced. The truck Corey just described sounded eerily similar to Andrew Shock’s vehicle. Carter knew this because he’d rode shotgun with Shock to Topper’s.
“I thought Jill was going to follow up on this, boss.”
“She’s now off-duty Corey. Please tag the paint chips as evidence. I think we may have found our killer.”
Carter knew paint transfer was not going to be enough to warrant the arrest of his medical examiner. Stanford even played with the thought that this was all just a big misunderstanding. Maybe Shock visited Barris to obtain the address of his wife in France.
The visit didn’t mean Shock killed her. Stanford was hesitant to confirm his worst fear―that someone on his own team was a murderer. But all that mental posturing took a back seat, when he found out Gerard Winters had been knifed to death in his hotel room.
Carter immediately instructed Tony Gelder to obtain a warrant to search Shock’s Medfield townhouse. Carter also advised the CSI to take along some uniformed officers.
Stanford checked his scheduling log. Shock would not be on duty until later that evening. He would work the graveyard shift that began at 11 p.m. unless he really was the murderer. If Shock had killed Winters, he was probably prepping for the big finale. A finale that meant he reached the point of no return. Shock was planning to go out in a blaze of glory. The murder of a law enforcement official could only mean one thing: Andrew Shock wanted to get caught. But who else could Shock hurt before being apprehended? The answer was obvious to Carter.
* * *
One hour later, Gelder had obtained an emergency search warrant from Judge Thompson to turn Shock’s townhouse inside out. Tony and three uniformed officers burst through the medical examiner’s front door after announcing their presence. Shock was not home. The investigators breathed a sigh of relief. They were all disturbed that one of their own was responsible for such heinous crimes. Yet they could not voice this concern. It was part of their code. Gelder fought to push this notion to the back of his mind as he started rummaging through Shock’s dresser drawers.
Stanford Carter was taking Sean Lyon’s advice. He was entrusting Tony Gelder to handle the investigation at Shock’s residence. Stanford had a gut feeling that Gelder would find a vacant dwelling. That same gut instinct told him he needed to make sure Jill was safe. Repeated calls to her cell phone only resulted in voice mail.
Carter theorized that maybe Jill had gone to the gym. She had told him she didn’t like interruptions when working out. With no hope of reaching her by phone, Carter could only pray that Shock hadn’t already beaten him to Jill’s apartment. He focused on his meditation, trying to picture Shock stuck in traffic. A few minutes later Carter pictured Jill, he was holding her in his arms. She was unharmed.
But Stanford could not retain his Zen optimism for long. He suffered the agony of finding every red light from Boston to his desired destination. Jill lived west of Boston in a town called Shrewsbury. This translated into nearly a 90-minute commute in traffic.
Stanford was still 15 minutes away from Jill’s apartment complex when his cell rang. “Please let it be Jill.” He answered quickly without taking the time to check his caller ID. A wave of disappointment flooded his heart as the voice on the other line was most definitely masculine. It was Tony Gelder. Stanford’s fears were now confirmed.
“Boss, we found a stack of surgical night gowns in Shock’s closet, along with a carton of blades. Carter braced himself as Gelder continued his report. “We also found some Tupperware in the freezer and it’s definitely not leftovers.” Tony explained to his boss that two human fingers were taking up residence in the airtight container.
“Okay Tony, maintain your presence at his house. I will be in contact with you shortly.”
“Sure thing, boss.” The communication ended abruptly. Gelder was not sure if Carter had hung up on him or a weak cell signal had sabotaged the transmission. Tony’s first instinct was to dial Jill’s number. He was repeatedly directed to voice mail.
* * *
Jill fumbled for her keys in the dark corridor outside her apartment. She noticed the overhead lamp was not on. Perhaps it blew out while I was at the gym. The lightless hallway conspired with a cloudy October day to make it impossible for her to see two feet in front of her. As Seacrest continued to struggle with the contents of her purse, a sound cascaded from the cement steps. She jumped involuntarily. The experience of her childhood would never quite fade away for Jill Seacrest.
“Is anybody there?” Jill paused a moment, but received no answer. In that span of time she had managed to pry her keys out of her crowded bag. She opened her door and left it ajar for a moment. As an investigator, she felt compelled to locate the source of the sound. Her eyes squinted into slits as peered down the dark stairwell. One flight below her was a fluorescent green-colored tennis ball. Maybe a child threw it down the stairwell. Maybe he or she’s not answering out of fear of punishment. Satisfied with her theory, Jill entered her apartment.
* * *
Stanford Carter requested back up. A small voice gnawed at Carter. The voice told him what he already knew―there was no time to wait for uniforms.
Carter’s GPS unit indicated he was only one block away from Jill’s residence. His mind scrambled to remember her apartment number. “It was comical. Oh, yes. It was B4. Jill had joked about it at the last Christmas office party. Carter’s stomach fluttered. He remembered how Andrew Shock had laughed at her story.
* * *
Jill needed to quench her thirst. She opened her refrigerator to retrieve some sparkling water, but before she could put a hand on the bottle–someone was putting a hand on her.
She spun at a 180-de
gree angle to confront the intruder.
“Shock. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Playing love counselor, I suppose. What’s the matter, Stanford Carter not good enough for you―you stuck up bitch!”
Shock knew he had bated Jill to focus on a verbal response rather than a physical one. As she opened her mouth to speak, Shock bent down like a defensive lineman and knocked the young CSI off of her feet.
She tried to bounce back up; but her workout at the gym had reduced her muscles to a bag of quivering tendons.
Shock spun Jill around so he could put a bear hold on her from behind.
Stanford Carter raced up the steps to Jill’s apartment. He couldn’t quite remember where he had parked his car. It was probably still running with the keys in it for all he knew. The Lieutenant Detective would have to prevent himself from becoming hyperventilated if he was to be any use to Jill. He slowly chanted the same sentence over and over: “I’m going to find Jill and she’s going to be all right. I’m going to find Jill and she’s going to be....”
Thirty seconds later, Stanford Carter decided to forego ringing Jill’s buzzer. The darkness surrounding her apartment door told him she was in danger. Carter took a deep breath and kicked down the door with his gun drawn.
Carter found Jill seated on her kitchen floor. Directly behind Seacrest was a man who used to be his medical examiner. Stanford knew the medical examiner no longer existed. He had come face to face with evil incarnate. The devil was not attired in a blue dress as an old song once professed. The devil was dressed in the aqua green color of a surgical gown. Shock shot Carter a vengeful look through his piercing blue eyes. The surgical mask hid the rest of his face. Carter sensed the maniac was prepped to operate.